


Not Alone

by Fanfictionwriter117



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Bucky Feels, Bucky needs a hug, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, OC, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, homeless!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfictionwriter117/pseuds/Fanfictionwriter117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has been living on the streets for weeks, scrounging for food in dumpsters. Someone gets him a decent meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

It was approaching dusk.

He had spent an entire day sitting on the sidewalk with a beaten, old baseball cap sitting openly in front of him. He had been living on the streets for almost a month now, sleeping in alleyways and living off either the scraps in dumpsters or the small change he was sometimes fortunate to collect. On a good day he could make at least three or four dollars which would ensure some form of meal that night. On a bad day, he collected mere quarters or nothing.

Today was a bad day.

Looking up from his lap, he checked his cap for the forth time in the last ten minutes. His chest sank when he saw nothing in it, not even a single coin. It would be night soon and after going hungry for the past two nights, he did not want to go without a third night. If he truly had to, then he would rummage around and see what he could find in a nearby dumpster but given the choice he would rather sit on the sidewalk and openly beg for money than eat scraps from the trash. The last time he had done that, he could barely move the next morning with the cramps in his stomach and had spent the majority of that morning vomiting and dry heaving. He had been too sick to move, too sick to beg that day which meant that he had gone hungry that night. He pursed his lips together; he could not afford to go another night without something in his stomach.

He continued to sit on the street, watching as the crowd slowly decreased in mass and the street lamps began to slowly illuminate. Feeling his stomach rumble painfully, he looked from his cap to the people passing by before looking dejectedly back at his empty cap. He needed help. He was dirty, cold and so hungry. He was also sure he smelled too as he had not bathed in over a week. He also knew to these people he was just simply another homeless man living on the streets. Nothing More.

Letting out a weary sigh, he picked up his baseball cap, putting it back on his head. Walking from where he had been sitting the majority of the day, he had to place a hand to his stomach in an attempt to calm the hunger pains. As much as he did not want to do it he knew he would have to resort to rummaging through a dumpster for food.

He found a secluded alleyway running alongside a small diner, peering around the corner he saw a lone dumpster beside the backdoor of the diner. Normally he would be cautious as to who may be around but the hunger pains in his belly were growing ever more intense as time went on. He was just going to have to risk it. He already knew what food poisoning was so if he was sick then he would deal with it. He had been through worse.

Approaching the dumpster, he was relieved to find that this one had not been locked like so many others had been, a precaution put in place to stop the likes of him skulking around the area in search of a quick meal, even if it was meagre scraps. Peering inside, he was hit with the pungent smell of rotting garbage. He knew the smell of dumpsters all too well, growing accustomed to the putrid smell the more he scavenged for food when he failed to collect enough money on the streets. There had even been one occasion where he had been forced to sleep inside one due to a night of heavy storms. Yet the smell of rotting food and other waste matter never failed to make him gag. Despite the churning in his stomach, he stuck his head inside the dumpster, rummaging around for something edible. If he was lucky, he would usually find a half eaten sandwich or hotdog. Once he found almost a whole chocolate bar! 

Peering even further into the trash, he found nothing. 

He would be going hungry. Again.

There were times, despite the hunger and cold, he had wondered what he had done? To deserve a life of begging and scavenging, wondering where his next meal would come from? Where he would be sleeping at night? Had he truly done something so bad? He couldn't remember. His nostrils flared in irritation at not only the reality of his situation, but the fact that he would be going hungry another night. He let out a sudden, pained cry of frustration and without even thinking, he struck the side of the dumpster with his left arm causing it to dent upon impact, the echo of the metal ringing in his ears. He stood there with his fits clenched, his chest heaving. It took a minute for the ringing to completely fade, but it had rung long enough to attract attention. A light suddenly came on from the diner's side window, the kitchen and he heard someone's voice say;

_"What the hell was that?"_

Suddenly realising his mistake, he felt a surge of panic in his chest as he heard shuffling from inside the diner, most likely someone coming to see what or who had caused the commotion. He felt suddenly trapped! He knew he was in trouble, knowing that if he ran he would be spotted. If he tried to hide then they would find him for sure. Opting for the latter, he crouched down behind the dumpster, staying perfectly still.

He heard the front door swing open, the little bell above it jingling. Hugging his knees closer to his chest, he held his breath. He heard footsteps crunching on the gravelly ground, coming closer to where he hid before they stopped. Overcome with fear, he clenched his eyes shut, feeling the slight tremors in his body. His only option was to remain where he was and not make a sound. The temperature was beginning to drop and soon he could see his breath become visible. He heard the footsteps again, this time walking around the dumpster. Feeling his eyes water, he bit his quivering lip. Before he could stop himself he let out a panicked hitch of breath, loud enough to get the other's attention. He kept his eyes shut, pushing his head into his knees. 

"Hey there," a deep but gentle voice spoke.

Opening his eyes, he slowly lifted his head to see a man, crouching to look at him with his arm leaning against the side of the dumpster. He stared at him with watery, frightened eyes. He knew he was cornered and the idea of being trapped scared him. The man didn't come any closer, seeing the man before him was clearly distressed. It must have been him that caused the racket outside. He looked the man over; the man was young, maybe in his mid twenties? His clothes were dirty and threadbare, defiantly having seen better days. His pants were filthy, torn in one knee. Judging by the young man's bedraggled appearance, he could safely say he was homeless. He wore a beaten baseball cap over greasy, matted hair which came down to his shoulders. His face wasn't as bad as his clothes, he had bags under his eyes which told him that the young man had not had a decent nights sleep in some time. He was showing the beginning of a scraggly, unkept beard. He had a cut on his lower lip which was beginning to scab and he had traces of dirt on his cheek and forehead from sleeping outside. 

Noticing the way he was huddled behind the dumpster, he could tell that the young man was cold and probably hungry. 

"You hungry, buddy?" Swallowing nervously, he gave a hesitant nod. His mouth watered at the mention of food.

"Right," was all the man said, holding his palms up towards him, indicating him to remain where he was. He watched almost curiously as he turned and went back into the diner. Why did he want him to stay? Was he not in trouble? The man didn't seem angry. He didn't shout or even attempt to touch him, so he didn't think he was in trouble. First, he had been scared. Now, he was more curious. The man didn't seem like a threat so he could assume that he didn't mean him any harm and knowing that put him a little more at ease. During his time on the streets, he had survived by earning money by begging on the street, rummaging through open dumpsters or stealing. He just got by each day, never coming into contact with anyone in fear they would hurt him. He let out a shuddering breath. He had been used and abused for so long.

He turned his head, alert when he head the door to the diner open again, the same familiar footsteps sounding. He looked up to see the man carrying a brown paper bag.

"Here you go, pal."

He tentatively held the bag out to the scruffy man, who took it with still a hint of caution. Peering into the bag, he was immediately hit with the smell of grilled meat. Saliva gathered in his mouth, dribbling out the side of his mouth, giving away just how hungry he was. He reached into the bag, pulling out a burger filled with pulled beef brisket, glazed with BBQ sauce. The man watched in pity as the homeless man tore into his food like a wild animal. He clearly hadn't eaten in days.

He bit into the burger, barley chewing before taking another bite. He closed his eyes as he let out a moan of pleasure, the sauce dribbling down his chin. He finished the burger in four large bites, eagerly licking the sticky sauce from his fingers. That was the best meal he had eaten in a long time, he could still taste the tender meat in his mouth. It was a pitiful sight to see the young man so hungry that he would lick the sauce from his fingers, even lap up any stray crumbs or pieces of meat that had fallen into his lap, looking dejected when there was no more left. After all the remnants of his meal were gone, he looked up to meet the other man's gaze, no longer afraid.

"...More?"

He sounded so hopeful. The poor man must be positively starving. 

"Comin' right up, bud."

 

-END

**Author's Note:**

> Homeless Bucky never fails to pull on my heartstrings and I never write enough of them!


End file.
